


"Am I dead?"

by Lavender_and_Vanilla



Series: Mystrade Monday Part 2: Flash Fiction [13]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Don't Post To Another Site, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Sickfic, mystrade
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-26
Updated: 2020-10-26
Packaged: 2021-03-08 23:35:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27204619
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lavender_and_Vanilla/pseuds/Lavender_and_Vanilla
Summary: Greg is injured on the job and has a difficult time finding his way home.
Relationships: Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade, Mycroft Holmes/Lestrade
Series: Mystrade Monday Part 2: Flash Fiction [13]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1862299
Comments: 19
Kudos: 146





	"Am I dead?"

Greg peered around the corner, then slowly entered the room. He took in the stained couch and the scent of coconuts. A candle, still lit, sat on the coffee table. “Donovan,” he called out. “We’ve got—“ Pain bloomed through Greg’s head. Nausea flared in his abdomen, and the room spun before going dark.

* * *

The sound of the waves lapping on the shore and squawk of seabirds filled the air. Greg sighed, contented. He’d been dozing on the lounge chair all afternoon. “Tell me, Mycroft,” he murmured. “Am I dead? Because this feels like heaven.” A beeping noise nearby penetrated his bliss. “Is someone using a metal detector?” Greg sat up and lifted his sunglasses.

* * *

Holding his reading glasses in his hand, Greg stood up from the sofa. “Mycroft?” He called out. “Hey! I think whatever you’re cooking is done.” The beeping from the oven timer in the kitchen continued, insistent and irritating. It was giving him a headache. Grumbling, Greg headed to the kitchen. He pushed the door open.

* * *

Looking around the restaurant Greg couldn’t see a single waiter in the room. The tables were full and diners chatted and laughed. The clink of silverware on plates and the chime of wine glasses toasting couldn’t hide the incessant, steady beep. Greg checked his phone to see if an alarm had gone off. All he really wanted was a glass of water. His throat was parched. “This place is terrible, Mycroft.” Greg turned to his dinner companion only to find an empty chair. Puzzled, Greg stood and walked out of the restaurant.

* * *

The sidewalk was wet from the rain dripping from the sky. Greg tipped his head back and tried to catch a bit of moisture for his dry mouth and throat. He looked down the street and saw a truck backing up into a loading zone. Its backup alarm blared repetitively. Across the street Greg caught a glimpse of a familiar figure. “Mycroft!” He called and stepped off the sidewalk to cross over.

* * *

Falling, falling, falling…

* * *

Greg jerked awake. The smell of disinfectant and plastic filled his nose. He blinked his eyes open and saw a sign on the wall opposite him.

Today is: Monday, October 26.

Your nurse is: Jaime.

Diet: Nothing By Mouth.

A soft beeping was coming from over his left shoulder. Greg turned his head to the right. “Mycroft,” he croaked.

The man sat hunched over his umbrella handle. At the sound of his name, he raised his face. Eyes were rimmed with red and tear tracks had dried on his cheeks. The umbrella clattered to the floor as Mycroft gripped Greg’s hand. “Gregory?” Tears overflowed down Mycroft’s face.

Greg sighed. “Finally. I found you.”

“I’ve been right here.”


End file.
